


You Won't Understand

by HopeCoppice



Series: Falling From Grace [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Betrayal, F/M, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Other, Satan is a scumbag and a fuckboy, Sexual Content, Some use of angelic deadname, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-09-07 18:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: A glimpse of Crowley and Satan's relationship from the other side.Makes much more sense if you read the rest of Falling From Grace first!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter, Raqiel/Crowley is referred to using the pronoun 'they'. This is for consistency, since this chapter spans a huge amount of time, often in a matter of sentences, and it's not always clear which pronouns would be correct in a given instance. So I've gone with 'they' for now, and in future chapters it will probably be 'he', 'she', or 'they' as appropriate in the moment. Please forgive the confusion!
> 
> Also: I know everyone reading this series is pretty much just waiting to see more of Grace. It's coming, I promise!

Satan had been an angel, once.

He had been Created to do what was necessary, to let nothing stand between himself and his goals, God's goals. He'd rebelled, but he hadn't fundamentally _ changed_.

He had tempted another angel into trying out the humans’ secrets with him, and he had chosen well. Raqiel was a lesser angel, of the lower ranks, but they had a burning curiosity Lucifer had found charming, and they had been so very adaptable. They had let him lead them, and the only time they’d ever hesitated was when he’d asked them to fight by his side. It hadn’t mattered; they had been curious, as ever, and Lucifer was certain that they would follow wherever he led. Sure enough, they had Fallen right after the rest.

Satan - as he had decided to call himself, after the Fall - had roared Raqiel’s name at the sky, shocked by the urgency of his need to find them. He had gathered them up, healed them, and laid his claim on them there and then. The newly-Fallen would no doubt have use for the secrets God had been keeping for the humans, but they would not be practicing them with Raqiel - with _ Crawly_. It was a cruel taunt, but Crawly had accepted it as their new name, and so it was what they were called. And Satan and Crawly had continued to practice human secrets together, and Crawly had been _ his _.

Then Crawly had turned to him one night, breathless after their exertions, and asked him a question. Crawly was always asking questions; that was no surprise. But this question was unexpected.

“What do you think it’d take, you know, to make things right? Get back up… there?” And Satan had laughed.

“We’re never going back, Crawly. You can’t be serious.”

“But…” Crawly’s face had fallen. “I thought, maybe… it’s been a while, I thought She might forgive us.”

“We do not want Her forgiveness.” His voice had been cold and unyielding. “You’re a fool if you think you do.”

“Right. Yeah. A fool.” They had looked uncertain, though, and Satan hadn’t been able to hold back a fresh burst of laughter.

“There’s no way any of us would ever get back in anyway. We’re demons, now. We’re unforgivable.” He’d slapped Crawly on the back, harder than he’d intended. “Get back up there! Oh, Crawly. You do make me laugh.”

About five quiet, oddly heavy minutes after that, Crawly had stood and gathered their clothes.

“Lord Satan.” That was new; Crawly never bothered with honorifics. “It’s been… I can’t do this any more.”

“Can’t do-?”

“This. The human secrets, whatever they’re going to call it. It was fun, but… I don’t want to carry on. So… thank you. I’ll take any punishment you see fit.”

“Punishment? What for?”

“For letting you down. For disappointing you.”

“Disappointing me? You think highly of yourself, Crawly.” He crossed his arms. “Perhaps it’s best you stay away from me, then.”

“Right. Yeah. Are you still looking for someone to send to this Garden thing?”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Might as well. We both need some space.”

“Fine. Get up there and make some trouble.”

It was strange; they had been practicing the human secrets - sex, Crawly would later report that they were calling it - for so long that the absence of Crawly felt wrong, even when Satan didn’t want to feel their body underneath him, around him. He had enjoyed talking to them. He had enjoyed hearing their ridiculous ideas. He had even enjoyed their misplaced optimism about returning to Heaven. But it seemed he’d had too _ much _of a laugh over that particular quirk; Crawly had been wounded by his disrespect. Well, let them be; Satan was the Lord of Hell, and he didn’t have to respect anyone. Crawly could have their space, but when they’d had their little sulk, they would come back. They would come back, and Satan would graciously welcome them back into his arms.

Crawly didn’t come back - not in any way that registered - for a long time. Satan got reports from them, through Beelzebub, who got those reports largely from a variety of lesser demons whose names Satan had never bothered to learn. On occasion, he’d hear that Crawly had returned to give a speech, or a presentation, but they never came to him, and he wasn’t going to chase them. Crawly would return to him.

And then, one day, just when Satan was beginning to think that Crawly might have been serious about leaving forever, the lesser demon returned to Hell unexpectedly. Satan sent them a summons, more out of idle curiosity than anything else, and was surprised when they arrived in some distress.

“Crowley, now, please, Lord Satan.” He was never going to remember that; Raqiel had become Crawly, long ago, and that had been hard enough to remember. Still, he acknowledged it, listened to Crowley’s babbling about mercy and the Fall, and graciously offered them a second chance.

“I seem to remember cheering you up when it happened. Come here.”

Crowley scrambled eagerly into his lap, let him join their bodies as they had before. They clung desperately to him, nails digging deep into Satan's back until it was all over. Then they stood, adjusted their dress, and looked into Satan’s eyes.

“This… I shouldn’t have- it can’t happen again.” Crowley left, but Satan wasn’t fooled. Crowley - Crawly - _ Raqiel _ still belonged to him, and he knew it now. All he had to do was wait. It would happen again.

It took nearly two thousand years, but it happened again. Crowley popped back into Hell unexpectedly, and Satan called them in to explain their surprise visit. He wasn’t expecting Crowley to go to their knees on his office floor and beg to have their pain taken away. He granted them that, gave them what they needed without hesitation, because he wanted it too. He had so missed his demon. And this time, when Crowley told him it couldn’t happen again, he knew it was a lie. He had them, as he had always had them, and Crowley would always be his.

The Apocalypse, though. That needed to happen. The demons of Hell were ready for war, and Satan couldn’t say he didn’t relish the idea of taking Heaven down a peg or two. The only problem was that he needed a child, the Antichrist, to fulfil the ancient prophecies. And, for the moment at least, he had no way of conceiving one. Even if he could, there would still presumably be a mother of some sort involved. If Crowley didn’t come crawling back to him, he supposed he could use somebody else, but whoever it was would need to be prepared to give over all claim to the child as soon as it was born.

It took him over a century to discover that he could reach back through time and use a past coupling to create the child he needed. Twenty more years of research assured him that there was a discreet way to break the ties between mother and child.

It only took him two months to convince himself that tricking Crowley was the sensible thing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Beelzebub had passed on the report; Crowley was going to embed himself with the family of the young Antichrist, in order to protect Hell’s investment.

“Apparently,” they buzzed, “an angel’zz been sniffing around, and Crowley wantzz to make sure the kid get’zz plenty of demonic influence. And not, you know… killed.”

“Fascinating,” Satan told them, sounding anything but fascinated, and waited for the Lord of the Flies to leave before he intercepted the Bentley’s radio signal. “Crowley. Report to my office.”

Crowley arrived an insolent half-hour later - it should have taken him minutes, at most - and lingered in the doorway. Satan understood the hesitation; the last time he and Crowley had been alone together, in this very office, they had practiced the human secrets, and Crowley had made it very clear at the time that he considered that a mistake. Today, though Satan would hardly object to repeating the experience, he had no intention of suggesting it.

“Crowley. Come in, sit down.” Crowley eyed the chair warily, as if checking it for some sort of trap, but seemed to decide it was safe. Then he looked up at him, and Satan had to turn his face away from the earnest, open look in his eyes.

“Am I in trouble, Luce?” It was cheeky; nobody else _ ever _got away with referring to him by his old name, and Crowley had only ever done it to wind him up, only when they were on good terms. If he was doing it now, he was trying to prove that he wasn’t afraid of him. But Satan was in no mood for games.

“_ Crowley._”

“Sorry. _ Lord _Satan.” But a fraction of the tension had dropped from the lesser demon’s shoulders, as if the exchange had clarified something. As if the boundaries of their relationship had been restated, which he supposed they had, in a way. “Am I in trouble? Because if it’s about-”

“I don’t want to know how that sentence ends.” Satan had no doubt at all that if he knew, he would have to punish Crowley, and that was not the point of this meeting. He didn’t _ want _to punish Crowley. In fact, the whole reason he’d called him here was because he was beginning to think he’d caused him harm, even if the lesser demon didn't know it yet. “You’re not in trouble. Yet.”

“Then what’s this about?”

Satan had thought about this conversation a lot before he’d decided to actually have it. For a few years, he’d thought nothing of his decision to have Crowley hand the Antichrist over - his own child, though he didn’t know it - and thereby sacrifice his parental rights. It wasn’t as if Crowley would have _ wanted _ those rights. Then, as he found himself wondering more and more about the Antichrist himself - three, by then, and no doubt running around, talking, making trouble - he found himself wondering if he had any of Crowley’s more endearing traits. The passion, the creativity, the stubborn streak a mile wide. And he realised that Crowley would never know, would never wonder. He had pushed away the uneasy thought that he might have cheated his demon - but he had decided, ultimately, that it was best to leave it.

And then the news came through that Crowley intended to get _ close _ to the Antichrist, to help _ raise _him in the ways of his Satanic Lord, and Satan felt a prickle of guilt… and a sharp tingle of fear. What if Crowley saw something of himself in the boy, something undeniable? He had to tell him, and he had a sinking suspicion that Crowley was going to react as if Satan had done something terrible to him. But he hadn’t; he had only done what needed to be done. He just had to find the words to explain that, before Crowley got into a temper and Satan lost all chance of ever being with him again.

“Look, Crowley, I don’t apologise often. If anyone ever asks, I don’t at all and never have. I don’t usually regret the things I do.” Crowley’s eyes widened, and for a moment Satan thought he’d seen right through him.

“Are you talking about… the Fall?”

“I don’t regret the Fall.” It was a reflex, instinctive; all the power and menace at his disposal slipped into his voice. It was the sort of tone that could make a person relive their worst nightmares, and, worse, make them think they deserved it. Crowley raised his hands, as if to surrender, and Satan made an effort to collect himself. “It’s about my _ son_, Crowley.”

“Yeah?” Crowley sat up a little straighter. “Want me to steal him back for you?”

“What? No. No! He has a job to do. But I do regret…” 

This was it. He was going to tell Crowley, and - with a bit of luck - Crowley would be a decent sport and accept that he had been outplayed in the pursuit of a Greater Evil. Crowley would understand, wouldn’t he, that it had had to be done? Perhaps he would be so grateful for Satan’s honesty that he would come back to him. Or, if he was upset by the news, perhaps he would let Satan ease his pain as he always had before. But there was a chance - a tiny chance, but still a chance - that Crowley would get _ sentimental_. That he would react as if he had been betrayed, and as if betrayal wasn’t par for the course in Hell. As if Crowley had expected _ better _of Satan, and Satan had disappointed him.

It was too great a risk.

“I regret assigning you the duty of delivering him. It must be awkward, with our history, and now it seems cruel to have you watch over him so closely.” Satan wasn’t even sure that made _ sense _ \- it was just the first thing that he could think to say that wasn’t the truth - but Crowley only raised an eyebrow, apparently accepting the lie.

“Our history is just that. History. _ Ancient _ History - it’s been over since before you posted me to Eden. Barring slips.” Crowley looked embarrassed about that; perhaps he really _ would _have called it off forever if Satan had told him the truth. “And you never asked me to take the Nanny position; that’s the other side’s fault. So we’re good. Well. Evil.”

“Are you sure? I can assign someone-” He had, for one wild moment, the idea that getting Crowley away from the boy might somehow make things better, might make it easier. But Crowley seemed very certain of his course of action.

“No. No, thanks. It could be fun, raising the Antichrist. I’ll send him your best.”

Crowley waited, poised on the edge of the chair like a bird about to take flight, until Satan nodded. A dismissal. A surrender. He would not tell Crowley what he had done; Crowley didn’t need to know. The moment he was given permission, the lesser demon fled, and Satan was left alone to worry about what might be uncovered in the course of Crowley’s work.

For the next few years, he dismissed Crowley’s reports, unread. If Crowley had found out who the Antichrist had once been to him, then he would no doubt have come down to argue with Satan about it. As he hadn’t, he assumed that everything was fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little chapter; the next one will be a little meatier, I expect.

His son had rejected him.

Over the last few years, Satan had let himself imagine the eventual reunion with his son a handful of times. The apocalypse would probably be quite scary for a kid - even Satan's own offspring - and then Satan would make his big entrance, before the Heavenly Host even had time to set down their songsheets. He'd offer the Antichrist power beyond his wildest dreams, he'd offer the safety of Hell from which to watch the carnage, and perhaps - if he didn't think Crowley was likely to overreact - he'd pull the boy's mother from the front lines and allow them to get to know one another, too. Perhaps he would keep Crowley back in the safety of Hell anyway; he didn't want his demon getting destroyed in the war, after all. And the child - Warlock, according to all the reports - would no doubt be pleased to see his former nanny again, even if the truth of their relationship was never revealed.

Only it hadn't worked out like that. The first sign of a cock-up had been Hastur's failure in Meggido, and sending him to fetch Crowley back - to demand answers, Satan had told Beelzebub when they dared to look surprised - had only resulted in the destruction of Ligur. Then, all of a sudden, the whole apocalypse had ground to a halt, and Beelzebub had suggested that "you'd better get up there, boszz".

He'd finally laid eyes on his son - Adam, apparently, not Warlock at all. He'd have suspected Crowley of lying to him, but it was clear that Crowley still didn't have the faintest idea that he was stood next to his own son. There was no reason he should have lied. And then the wilful, disobedient child rejected him, Crowley backing him all the way, and Satan would have laughed if he'd been watching this happen to somebody else - because Adam wiped away every trace of a familial bond with Satan and rejected any other supernatural relatives in the same reality-altering breath, and still Crowley stood in support. If Crowley's claim on the child hadn't been severed eleven years ago, it certainly would be now.

Satan knew a lost cause when he saw it, and his son clearly wanted nothing to do with him - at least not today. It had been emotional, Satan supposed, for everyone involved, and humans were well known for reacting poorly to emotions and stress. If they weren't, after all, Hell's job would be much harder. Perhaps he shouldn't have made the kid human after all, but it had seemed a good idea at the time. Still, in a few decades or so, all the fuss was bound to die down. Satan would try again then.

For now, he was going to get spectacularly drunk.


	4. Chapter 4

Almost thirty-one hours had passed by the time Satan summoned Crowley. He had been trying for at least two before that, but he'd had a bit of trouble remembering what the hell Crowley was calling himself these days, and then even more trouble drawing the proper sigil (which had nothing to do with what he called himself, he realised later). Eventually, there was a promising sulfuric sizzle and Crowley appeared by the door.

"Crowley! I'm not his father any more. Drink with me, will you?" The lesser demon looked tired, and somewhat suspicious, but that was probably par for the course in Hell at the moment. No doubt everyone was feeling the strain of preparing for a war that never came. Of course, Crowley had been part of the _reason_ it hadn’t happened, as far as Satan could tell, so maybe he was worried about getting into trouble. Satan, frankly, couldn’t care less who’d screwed up the apocalypse; he had been utterly humiliated in front of all of Hell, and he’d lost his son to boot. Crowley seemed to realise, eventually, that he was in no fit state to punish him, and he accepted the bottle and the seat he was offered.

“Why me?”

“No-one else would understand how it feels.” Crowley frowned.

“I… can’t say I’ve ever lost a child." Of course, Satan realised; he didn’t understand. He didn’t _ know _. "Especially like this.”

“You did.” He decided not to bother with the minor detail of _ how _ Crowley had given the baby up, not just yet; he’d be much better company for Satan’s misery if he thought the slight was fresh. If he thought it was _ Adam’s _ fault, and his alone. “The boy might have _ said _ I wasn’t his father, but what he _ thought _was that those humans were his parents, no-one else.”

“Right.” Crowley still looked baffled, albeit slightly sympathetic. “And I’m sorry about that, but what the Heaven has it got to do with me?” Ah - he probably thought that Adam had been born like any other human child, pushed out of a body screaming and bloody. Of course, he would expect to know about something like that, if he had done it.

“We don’t bear children, Crowley. We Create them.”

For a moment, there was silence; Satan sipped from his bottle and watched Crowley’s face turn pale.

“What are you saying?”

“It was as easy as selecting a moment.” Suddenly, he wanted to brag about it; he had _ made _Adam, after all, made him out of the pair of them, and it had been quite an impressive feat, actually. He’d worked hard on it, and he’d taken pains to make sure it had its own sort of poetry to it. “The moment just before you Fell, I thought that was appropriate. You take that moment, and you pluck it out of time, and you breathe life into the spark, and the spark grows.”

“You take- I’m really not following.” But Crowley’s breath was coming in shallow gasps, now, the lesser demon probably unaware of his body’s own treacherous reactions. He was catching on, Satan knew.

“The potential was there, the day we Fell. We could have made another, then, our own Creation. So I reached back in time and did it, and then the Creation was here. The image of his father,” he told him proudly, trying to keep his words from running together - he really had consumed a quite fantastic amount of alcohol - “but I knew his mother would show through eventually.”

“His… mother.” Crowley swallowed hard, then took a long swig from his bottle, grimacing at the taste. “You mean-?”

“Until he cut us both out of his life, you were his parent, too.”

Crowley didn’t react to that at all, only stared at him as if, perhaps, he thought Satan had gone completely mad. He began talking, more to fill the conversational void than out of any real desire to impart knowledge; he could give Crowley details that would convince him of the truth, of course, but more importantly he hadn’t Summoned Crowley just to have him sit and stare while Satan drank. They were supposed to be commiserating over their shared loss, so Satan was going to start commiserating and Crowley could catch up.

“I suppose it’s been a very long time, for you, since you haven’t really been his mother since day one. Perhaps it doesn’t feel any different to you, since you parted ways so long ago. It’s new to me, though - I _ created _ the boy, and then for eleven years I expected he’d be my heir. It wasn’t straightforward, of course - reaching back through time, breathing life into the child, then arranging for you to take him to the nuns. It was a real pain, making sure _ you _took him to the nuns, and I really do regret doing that, but it was necessary - you had to be the one to hand him over, to break the ties-”

“Sorry, what?” Crowley was back in the room, it seemed, and asking questions as he always had. Satan smiled indulgently; they had been through a lot, not least in the last few days, and he could spare the time to explain things to Crowley rather than shutting down his curiosity.

“Well, if I’d given him to the nuns personally, I’d be giving up my parental rights. That was no good. And if I’d told Hastur to hand him straight over to them, he’d still be tied to both of us. The Antichrist had to be _mine_, so-”

“So you had _ me _ hand over my son.” The bottle in Crowley’s hand was refilling itself, and Satan wasn’t sure Crowley even knew he was doing it. He looked as if he might be sick. “_My own son_, a child I never even knew existed, never knew was part of me-”

“Yes.” Something in Crowley’s expression gave him pause; perhaps Crowley _ was _going to make a big deal out of this, after all. “I did apologise-”

“You _ expressed regret_, and you didn’t even tell me what for!” Crowley rarely raised his voice in Hell, usually tried to seem unaffected by all that went on around him. He had never shouted at Satan like this before. “And now - why would you tell me _ now?_ Now that he’s nobody’s but the parents who raised him, now that it’s far too late to make amends? _ Why would you tell me now?_”

“I told you, you’re the only one who understands-”

“I _ don’t _ understand. I share the pain, now, but I don’t _ understand_." Crowley sounded like a feral beast, injured and cornered and ready to rip out any number of throats to survive. Satan focused very hard on not moving backwards. "And… and I don’t have to be here any more. Haven’t you heard? Earlier I took a bath in Holy Water and survived, not that _ you _ lifted a finger to stop them destroying me, and now Heaven and Hell are terrified of me. And they should be. But not as terrified as _ you _ should be.” Satan had been drinking solidly for the last day and a half, but he’d never felt so sober in his existence. He hadn’t felt so threatened - so _ despised _ \- since he’d faced off with God Herself. “Send me back, and never summon me again.”

“But-”

“Send me back!” The last syllable came out as a sob, and that was what startled Satan into action; a wave of the hand, and Crowley was gone.

Satan had never seen Crowley so anguished; even after the Fall, Raqiel had simply crawled to him and clung on tight. Crowley had always accepted the hand fate dealt him and played it bravely, at least as far as anyone in Hell had seen; Crowley was a trickster, a creature of mischief and good humour, until crossed. Nobody had ever really bothered to get in his way, before - being the Lord of Hell’s personal demon had that effect - but now Satan couldn’t help remembering Ligur’s fate. Ligur had been trying to _ destroy _Crowley, of course, at least as far as Crowley was concerned; Satan hadn’t done anything that terrible. He’d just caused Crowley a mild inconvenience, really - perhaps, at a push, having him surrender their son might be construed as petty theft. Crowley hadn’t even known what he was missing; there was no reason for him to be so angry, and once he calmed down he would realise that.

This conclusion reached, Satan called out for the nearest demon to fetch Beelzebub; his voice carried, when he wanted it to, and he had no doubt that his order would be obeyed within minutes. If Crowley had been exposed to Holy Water, and had lived, then he needed to know _ how _ \- and, just as importantly, what had given the Dukes of Hell the impression that Crowley was no longer _ his _to discipline or tolerate as he wished. There was work to be done, and he intended to do it while he waited for Crowley to apologise. 

Still, it hadn’t gone quite as he’d hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and talk to me on Tumblr: @sameoldsorceress


	5. Chapter 5

Beelzebub called for Dagon and Hastur to join them as soon as they realised they were in trouble. Three demons disobeyed his direct and ancient order; three demons put Crowley on trial. Three demons would face the consequences.

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, was Satan’s second-in-command, his most trusted Lieutenant. In practice, they were responsible for handling most of the daily business of Hell; Lucifer had long since decided to commit himself to the pursuit of sin, rather than its propagation. That was what Hell was _ for_, after all, and one didn’t have a whole army of demons and bark oneself. Beelzebub had always been a loyal and dependable demon, and had given him little reason to complain.

Dagon, Lord of The Files, was Beelzebub’s left-hand demon - left, of course, being the favoured side in Hell - and responsible for all the paperwork managing such a large mob of demons tended to produce. She was responsible for creating it, she was responsible for collecting it, and by all accounts she also spent a lot of her time filling it in and grumbling about it.

Hastur, Duke of Hell, was one of several interchangeable demonic dukes Satan often had trouble telling apart. He knew that this one was Hastur, because Beelzebub had greeted each of their companions by name as they entered, and he also knew that the Duke had suffered some kind of bereavement recently, because his name had been on a form related to Compassionate Leave, which had got as far as his office before Satan had thrown up on it. He had drunk - and sobered up from - a _ lot _ before calling his disobedient peons in. 

Once all three had made their bows and were lined up before him - Satan had not offered any of them a seat - he took a moment to regard them all in an intimidating fashion. Beelzebub held their ground firmly enough, the agitated buzzing of their flies the only indication of their stress. Dagon was fidgeting with her clothing, as if she’d really like to be anywhere else just then. Hastur stared blankly ahead, eyes hollows of madness. Satan wasn’t entirely sure he knew where he was.

“Beelzebub. Dagon. Hastur.” The flinch as he said each name was gratifying. Hastur _ was _ paying attention, then. “Do you know why you’re here?” Nobody spoke, so Satan pointed a finger at Beelzebub. “_You _know why you’re here, don’t you, Beelzebub?”

“It hazzz to do with the trial of the demon Crowley,” she hazarded, and he smiled. It was not a rewarding, encouraging sort of smile; it was the sort of smile with which a cat might favour a mouse, or a fox a rabbit.

“And _ why _ have I summoned you here to discuss the trial of the demon Crowley? The trial _** you three held**_**?”**

“Unauthorised,” Hastur guessed, when Satan pointed at him.

“Correct, but vague. Dagon?”

“...The Demon Crowley is off-limits.” It came out in a rush, not at all Dagon’s usual strident tone.

“Absolutely right,” Satan told her gently, and then stood, voice crackling with power, the taste of hot metal and sharp glass filling the room. _**“THE DEMON CROWLEY IS OFF-LIMITS!” **_

They did not move, or speak, but all three demons seemed to shrink a little within themselves. Hastur’s frog hopped right off his head and went to hide in a corner of the room; Beelzebub’s flies, heedless of their place in the food chain, followed in short order. The demons themselves quivered as Satan moved around his desk to get closer.

“The demon Crowley has _been_ off-limits since the Fall. I don’t remember taking that order back, so why would three of my least incompetent demons - three demons I expect to _ know better _\- disregard my command? What exactly did you hope to accomplish?”

“He killed Ligur!” Hastur was the first to break, as Satan had expected. “He _ destroyed _him - with Holy Water - and he deserved the same!”

“And where did _ you _get Holy Water? For that matter, where did Crowley?”

“Heaven,” Beelzebub told him, before Hastur could make anything worse. “We traded it for zzome hellfire zzo they could deal with their rogue angel.”

“You _ gave the angels hellfire? _” Satan hadn’t thought he could get any angrier. “What if they study it and find a way to negate the effects?”

“We sent one of the disposables up with it,” Dagon mumbled, “turned out to be a faulty batch anyway, apparently.”

“And the Holy Water?”

“Didn’t work,” Beelzebub told him flatly, “Crowley’zzzzz _ immune_, somehow.”

“Of course he is,” Satan told them, eyes flashing dangerously, “because _ I ordered that he was to be left alone_.”

There was silence, for a moment, as that sank in, and then Beelzebub gasped.

_“You _ protected him- my lord, I thought after everything that happened with your-” Satan’s glare burned a few thousand degrees hotter, and they changed tack with impressive speed. “The apocalypzzzz. I thought after that, you’d cast him aside.”

“But you didn’t check, did you, Beelzebub? Nor you, Hastur? Dagon, nothing for me to sign? No. You knew I’d say no, and you decided to do it anyway.”

“He killed Ligur,” Hastur repeated sullenly, and Beelzebub kicked him in the shin.

“Fortunately for you, you were unsuccessful in your attempt to destroy what is _ mine_. It is in _ my _power to destroy the demon Crowley, and it is in my power to give him dominion over all of you, if I decide. Forget this again, and I might well do just that.” He sighed dramatically; he really ought to make an example of them, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with the fallout, train up new lieutenants, and contain the anger of the demons who’d been so ready for a fight. He just wanted to get drunk again. “Also fortunately for you, each of you would otherwise be receiving a commendation for your services to Hell.”

He moved back behind the desk and sat down, shuffling some of the random papers scattered there.

“Beelzebub, you led the armies of Hell with competence and malice aplenty. You were the first on the scene on Earth when things went wrong. You will _ not _be receiving any commendation for that, but it has just saved your pitiful existence.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Beelzebub hummed, and bowed low before him.

“Dagon, you also marshalled the troops, and took control in Beelzebub’s place when they were Above. You will not receive a commendation, but you will not be destroyed.”

“Thank you, Lord Satan.” Dagon bowed too, then dropped to her knees on the floor for good measure. Satan appreciated the gesture.

“And you, Hastur.”

“I don’t care. I know I haven’t done any of that stuff, do what you w-”

“If I wanted to destroy you, I wouldn’t need your permission,” Satan pointed out sharply, “but I am not blind to your grief. Besides, the demon I interrogated while Beelzebub fetched you and Dagon revealed that _ you _ are responsible for destroying the Usher.”

“Testing the Holy Water,” Hastur mumbled, and Satan smiled. This time, it was a warmer expression.

“And it was a good idea. I hated that thing. You will not be destroyed for this.”

“Fine,” Hastur grunted, but Satan wasn’t finished.

“And your friend… _Ligur_,” he subtly read off of the Compassionate Leave Request form he’d just spotted, “will be commemorated with his name on a poster on the wall of Hell. In Comic Sans.”

“Oh. Thank you, my lord, thank you.” Hastur toppled, like Dagon, to his knees; Satan nodded in acknowledgement of his thanks, then continued.

“Your request for compassionate leave is denied - this is _Hell,_ we don’t _ do _compassion - and all three of you are on latrine duty for the next century. I don’t want to hear a single whisper of disobedience from any of you, ever again. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

He’d never seen three demons scuttle out of his office so fast. He’d gone easy on them, he supposed - but if Beelzebub and Dagon weren’t around to deal with the mounting anger of the demons, _ he _might have to do it, and he’d rather just get very drunk again.

Besides, when Crowley - Crowley, who was apparently _ immune to Holy Water_, because Satan certainly hadn’t had anything to do with his miraculous escape - came back to apologise, Satan really might just give the three of them over to him as a token of his appreciation. Crowley would enjoy having the power of life and death over the three demons who’d tried to destroy him, he was sure. He’d be very grateful indeed. And Satan liked the idea of Crowley being grateful to him, smiling at him perhaps. Maybe he’d come around, accept that he was better with Satan than apart from him.

Yes, he could spare even such blatant traitors. They would make a perfect gift for his Raqiel.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be, like, a one-shot, maybe three chapters at most, and now it's turning into some sort of doomed, terribly unhealthy slowburn thing. Help. Oh, well. Here's some more of it, if you're interested.

There were very few certainties, when you were an immortal entity from original angel stock. Death and taxes didn’t even come close to touching most such beings. There had, however, always been one certainty in Hell.

Holy Water would destroy a demon.

It didn’t take much, either; a single drop could melt away both flesh and ethereally-stained soul until there was nothing left. No hope of recorporation, redemption, or survival. No demon, nor any of the beasts of Hell, had ever come into direct contact with Holy Water and survived.

Until now.

Satan had been waiting for over a year, now, and his prized demon had not returned to him. A year wasn’t a very long time, for an occult being of infinite age, but it was certainly longer than he’d expected Crowley to sulk over this. It was such an insignificant thing, really; all Satan had done was neglect to tell him the Antichrist’s true parentage - not that Crowley had asked - and Crowley had done the rest himself. He’d handed over that child as if it was nothing to him, and it had been - from the moment the boy had been given to the nuns, Crowley had ceased to be any part of the child, according to celestial law. It had been an _ honour_, to be chosen to play that small role, let alone to provide the spark of the Antichrist’s creation, and now Crowley was throwing a tantrum about it.

In any other circumstances, Satan might have been tempted to summon him and demand that he get his act together. But Crowley had bathed in Holy Water and _ survived_, and that raised a number of very important questions that Satan wanted answers to before he started poking that particular snake with a stick. How had he done it? Was he not a demon any more? If he wasn’t a demon… was he still Satan’s subject? Could he still sit at Satan’s feet in the Court of Hell, let alone his side?

Crowley was, after all, the Mother of the Antichrist. That deserved some sort of special position in Hell - Satan could think of _ several _ special positions he’d like to offer Crowley, in fact. Why not at his side? And if Crowley was impervious to Holy Water, who better to sit beside him? Perhaps he could even teach Satan the trick of it. They would be unstoppable; Satan and Crowley, burning through the skies in ways Lucifer and Raqiel could never have dreamed of.

Perhaps he was dangerous. If Holy Water couldn’t harm him - if he truly was invincible now - then perhaps it would be wisest for Satan to let him calm down in his own time. He didn’t want to rush him and suffer some sort of misguided retaliation. Better that this new, mightier Crowley should come to him of his own accord. 

He wouldn’t even need to apologise for his overreaction; Satan could tolerate Crowley’s heightened emotions. He found them amusing, on occasion, even endearing. He would welcome Crowley back with open arms, and with Crowley at his side, he would rule over Hell with more power than ever before. With Crowley’s imagination in his corner, perhaps he would find a new way to rule the world, defeat Heaven, and become more powerful than even God Herself.

For now, he would let Crowley nurse his anger. For now, he would simply wait for Crowley to come home.


	7. Chapter 7

Satan had heard of the human expression "don't tell the Devil your business". One of the lesser demons had heard it while on a short assignment on Earth, and had found it absolutely hilarious. So had the rest of Hell, actually. They had not, however, been under any illusions that such a strategy would work for them.

Which made him very curious as to what a fairly sizeable group of demons might think they were doing, whispering to one another right outside his office door. He threw it open and glared at the first demon he saw.

“You. What’s all the fuss about?”

“Er- er- er-” Satan rolled his eyes and the demon burst into flames. Three identical copies of the unfortunate creature stared in horror, but none seemed keen to step forward.

“Dagon’zz got a file,” Beelzebub offered, then hurried off. The rest of the demons stumbled after them, leaving Dagon standing miserably alone. She did indeed have a file in her hand.

“I thought you ought to see it, my lord.”

“Come in, then.”

Dagon placed the file on his desk and took two steps backwards, as if to leave before Satan could yell at her, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“What does it say?”

“There’s… been a Creation, my lord.”

“A Creation?” Demons didn’t Create, and the last he’d heard, neither did Heaven. Was this some new attempt to win the war? “Whose? God’s?”

“No. Er… it’s Crowley, my lord. At least, we think… it’s the right area… we think it was the Demon Crowley.”

“When did this happen?” Satan’s heart was thumping irregularly in his chest; his stomach turned over as he tried not to jump to conclusions about what this could mean. If Crowley had Created a child…

“Two weeks ago, my lord, but the report only came in today-”

“Have whoever was responsible for the delay whipped. Now get out, I need to investigate this further.”

Dagon couldn’t get out of his office quickly enough, and Satan hardly paused to compose himself before summoning Crowley. The lesser demon appeared just inside his office door and stood, looking almost frantic. Honestly; it was as if Crowley didn’t know he could trust him.

"Crowley. Come in, sit down." He was expecting obedience. He didn’t get it; instead, Crowley raised an eyebrow and didn’t move.

“Fairly certain I told you not to summon me again.”

He hadn’t expected insolence, or attitude; he had hoped that this could be a moment of reconciliation, but it seemed that Crowley’s pride was still in their way.

“You did. But I heard there was a Creation.” Crowley tensed, and Satan realised it was true. He had hardly dared to believe it, but perhaps… Adam wanted nothing to do with them, but perhaps they could try again. Perhaps they could get it right this time, with this new child Crowley had made. He forced himself to sound detached, calm… disinterested, even. “Ah. I see. Where did you get the spark?”

“Made it.” Crowley shrugged. “I had help.”

“It’s not…?” He could feel his heart sink at the implication. Satan hadn’t helped, therefore, the Creation wasn’t his. Or- perhaps- Crowley might just be toying with him. He hadn’t specifically said that the child _ wasn’t- _

“Yours?” Crowley snorted derisively, and Satan felt the last of his hopes fade. “No, she’s not yours. Even if she had been, I’d never have let you see her. Why, were you looking for a new Antichrist?”

“I told you, I regret-” It was almost automatic, and Crowley interrupted with just as little care.

“Yeah, yeah. You _regret_. Did you have anything significant to say, or can I get back to my daughter? Only I’m getting tired of being torn away from my children.”

Satan didn’t know how to respond, still trying to catch up with what had happened. Crowley had Created a child, but without Satan’s help. The child wasn’t Satan’s at all. It was… somebody else’s. That was a hard concept to wrap his head around. Crowley had Created a child with somebody else. Somebody who wasn’t Satan. Crowley was _ with somebody else _. For the first time, Satan allowed himself to consider the horrifying possibility that his Raqiel wasn’t coming back to him.

Crowley wasn’t coming back to him.

“You’ve moved on, then.” He did his best to keep his voice level, and knew himself to be failing miserably. He felt drained, exhausted, and so very _ old. _ He felt, suddenly, as though he’d lost something of immeasurable value, and he had no idea how he could get it back. _ If _ he could get it back.

“Yeah.” Crowley, on the other hand, had never sounded so strong, so fierce and young and alive. “Yeah, finally, I’ve got someone who actually cares for me. I’ve got somewhere I belong, and somebody I belong to. Two, actually. So let me go, and leave us alone.”

Satan stared at him for a moment longer, taking in the defiant beauty of his former lover’s face, reading the fury in every line of his body, sensing his impatience and wondering if he had ever been as impatient to get back to Satan as he now seemed to get away from him. Then, slowly, he waved a hand, and Crowley was gone.

For several moments, Satan didn’t move, as if Crowley might somehow still be able to see him. As if he might laugh, or tease, or find him pathetic. As if he might see him crumble and decide he didn’t want to bother with him any more.

He didn’t want to bother with him any more, anyway. Satan took that thought, and he crumpled it up against his heart, and then he let out a roar of anguish that sent nearby demons scuttling to the other side of Hell.

He had lost his Crowley.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: if you're sensitive to stalking/creepy, controlling and coercive behaviour, you're probably already not enjoying this fic (sorry) but he's upping his game a bit so be warned.
> 
> (This is set some time before the last few chapters of Life Had Just Begun)

He had never paid enough attention. 

Satan realised that now. He had taken Crowley for granted, and he hadn’t taken enough of an interest. It was little wonder that Crowley had gone to such drastic lengths to get his attention. Well, she had it now.

He hadn’t even known what the Creation was; on further investigation, it was a little female human, from what he could tell. A curious choice, if indeed Crowley had chosen it. For all he knew, it might have been entirely the other parent’s idea. They seemed to call it ‘Grace’, which only lent weight to that theory; what would Crowley want with any form of Grace?

He hadn’t known who had helped Crowley with the Creation, either, but now he did - and that had been a shock. An  _ angel _ , unfallen and unblemished, although he didn’t seem to spend much time in Heaven. That made sense; he must know that Crowley was not without other prospects. He wouldn’t want to leave her unguarded and risk Satan reclaiming what was his. The angel had a name, too - Aziraphale, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Well, the gate was gone, and a mere Principality was nothing to Satan. How could Crowley stand to be with someone so weak and pitiful? But then he’d had a word with Beelzebub, and Beelzebub had put some feelers out through their backchannels to Heaven, and when they’d returned they’d looked deeply concerned.

“Heaven’zzzz terrified of him,” they told him quietly, “they don’t know  _ what  _ he izz any more. All betzz are off, they said.”

So Satan paid attention. He watched, and he listened, and he waited. Sooner or later, there would be an opportunity for him to seize his Crowley back from the hands of this strange angel. There would be  _ something  _ he could use to win Crowley to his side once more. He had an eternity, after all, and even Satan himself could be patient, given the right incentive. He would watch, and he would wait, and then he would strike.

He would not let Crowley go so easily.


End file.
